


Spell of the Stars

by Jerevinan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Horror, Dancing, Ghosts, M/M, Masquerade Ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerevinan/pseuds/Jerevinan
Summary: When the thirteen stars of the Chosen King Constellation shine down upon Eos at their brightest, it gives two ghosts the power to be almost human again.





	Spell of the Stars

The ballroom filled with people dancing in a sea of velvet and lace. Decorative masks hid away their faces, and Noctis hoped no one noticed how milky his face appeared around the pale pink balm on his lips. He had hidden the rest beneath gloves and behind his cravat, powdering some of the patches of exposed skin with stolen blush. 

Only on a few nights each year, when his constellation glimmered brightest and closest to Eos, could he appear almost human. The annual masquerade ball in Insomnia was held every year at the Citadel during that time.

Noctis glanced up at the thirteen shining stars in the dusky skies. All of them patterned to make out the shape of a man on a throne. He could feel the energy flowing through his form, healing wounds he had carried with him since death. 

Noctis had until dawn to find Ignis before he became a translucent, battered form of the man he had once been.

They still spend their days and nights together in the Citadel, banging messages through the walls and curling up on the dusty covers of old beds. But they only had a short time in this season to touch one another. The annual ball had become a romantic game between the two. Would they find one another and dance for the rest of the evening, or be doomed to spend their night being passed from stranger to stranger? They had always managed to spot one another. Masks could not disguise their familiarity with one another.

Noctis took hand after hand, dancing to the best of his ability. One hundred thirty years of practice made him something of a fine partner, abled on his feet, twirling gracefully through the waves of frilly dance skirts and flashy collars. Feathers tickled across his cheeks, and he smiled and bowed at every single person who fluttered off to the next person to waltz with. Noctis knew Ignis would come. A strong hand would fall on his hip, and he would take in the nostalgic scent of Ignis’ cologne. 

“What a lovely mask,” said one woman, and she took Noctis’ hand in her own. They spun around, and she flirted and kissed his cheek, and he wondered vaguely if his blush might get worn down. It didn’t matter much, but he didn’t have to worry for long. A man asked him to dance, and then another woman. It continued on for some time, sometimes with a little kiss, but no one seemed to notice anything odd about his face.

“Mind if I take him from you?” asked a familiar voice.

Noctis smiled, ignoring his last partner and moving into Ignis’ arms. He would dance with no other now. He leaned in, inhaling while he still had the ability to do it, his fingers playing with the hair at the back of Ignis’ neck.

“Do you have more blush?” asked Ignis.

“Is it that bad?”

“Not yet, but you might want to touch up.”

“Does it matter, now that I’ve found you?” 

Now that he had found his spectral husband, Noctis did not want to let go of his hand. He rested his head against Ignis’ shoulder and hummed to the music he had become familiar with year after year. The crowds thinned around them, people drifting to the tables for a snack or leaving to find a private place to celebrate the night with a stranger. 

When the music stopped and only the most drunken of people lingered, Noctis and Ignis continued to dance on legs that never tired.

The morning light filtered in through the windows of the Citadel, the power of the constellation no longer flowing through their veins. Their clothes and masks were no longer enough to hide the pale visions of ghosts, and the blood Noctis had choked on while being impaled on the throne reappeared at the corner of his mouth for all the remaining guests to see. 

Most were too inebriated to notice the trail of red down his chin. Some stared a bit too long before taking another drink from their champagne flutes.

“We must go,” said Ignis, taking Noctis’ hand and hurrying him out the door. 

Noctis laughed as he continued to fade, becoming nothing more than a pale figure that would only show up in the quick click of a photo, whose voice could only be heard over the static of a recording. The mask and clothing fell away—items he had borrowed while still given a form in which to change out of his tattered kingly raiment. But as the spell of the stars wore off, he did not find himself unclothed. The outfit he discarded was returned to him, like the skin of death he could only shed under the twinkling of his constellation.

The only part of the evening that remained with him was the memory of Ignis’ warmth against his and the laughter they shared. Noctis would enjoy it for a few more nights before they went back to being the shadows in the corner of someone’s vision and the ghostly tale of the lovers who always danced in the Citadel ballroom until the dawn killed the spell.


End file.
